sappears. He would miss
her badly. What a good sort! What a pal! And now--gone. Biffed off.
Next, Derek. Together, more or less, ever since Winchester, and
now--bing!...

Freddie heaved a sigh, and reached out for the _Sporting Times_, his
never-failing comfort in times of depression. He lit another cigar and
curled up in one of the arm-chairs. He was feeling tired. He had been
playing squash all the afternoon, a game at which he was exceedingly
expert and to which he was much addicted.

Time passed. The paper slipped to the floor. A cold cigar followed it.
From the depths of the chair came a faint snore....

* * * * *

A hand on his shoulder brought Freddie with a jerk from troubled
dreams. Derek was standing beside him. A bent, tousled Derek,
apparently in pain.

"Freddie!"

"Hullo!"

A spasm twisted Derek's face.

"Have you got any pepsin?"

Derek uttered a groan. What a mocker of our petty human dignity is
this dyspepsia, bringing low the haughtiest of us, less than love
itself a respecter of persons. This was a different Derek from the man
who had stalked stiffly from the room two hours before. His pride had
been humbled upon the rack.

"Pepsin?"

"Yes. I've got the most damned attack of indigestion."

The mists of sleep rolled away from Freddie. He was awake again, and
became immediately helpful. These were the occasions when the Last of
the Rookes was a good man to have at your side. It was Freddie who
suggested that Derek should recline in the arm-chair which he had
vacated; Freddie who nipped round the corner to the all-night
chemist's and returned with a magic bottle guaranteed to relieve an
ostrich after a surfeit of tenpenny nails; Freddie who mixed and
administered the dose.

His ministrations were rewarded. Presently the agony seemed to pass.
Derek recovered.

One would say that Derek became himself again, but that the mood of
gentle remorse which came upon him as he lay in the arm-chair was one
so foreign to his nature. Freddie had never seen him so subdued. He
was like a convalescent child. Between them, the all-night chemist and
the Dry. Salters seemed to have wrought a sort of miracle. These
temporary softenings of personality frequently follow City dinners.
The time to catch your Dry-Salter in angelic mood is the day after the
semi-annual banquet. Go to him then and he will give you his watch and
chain.

"Freddie," said Derek.

They were sitting